


The Full Value of Joy

by Sarahtoo



Series: Phrack Fucking Friday [26]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, LET THERE BE SMUT, London, Phrack Fucking Friday, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, pff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-04
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-21 03:10:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17634917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: Jack has joined Phryne in London and they're discovering just how fun a night in can be.





	The Full Value of Joy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whopooh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whopooh/gifts).



> OK, this is late. I know. But maybe the second F in PFF is actually Phrack Fucking February? I'm gonna go with it. :D
> 
> For Whopooh, who planted the seed of this, with the idea of... well, no spoilers, but the middle bit. It’s not quite the laughing frolic I’d intended, but it's working all right anyway. :D
> 
> The title is from Mark Twain: “To get the full value of joy you must have someone to divide it with.” Phryne has been joyful a long time, but I think being with Jack would amplify it. I hope you agree!

Phryne turned from the drinks tray with a whiskey in each hand and sauntered over to where her lover reclined on the long sofa. The flat she’d rented in London had been furnished in what she liked to term comfortable chic—squashy armchairs covered in burgundy cut velvet begged for someone to curl up into them to read; the sofa was long enough for a man to stretch out on it and soft enough for a nap, its wine-and-gold jacquard fabric beautiful and gentle against the skin; the floor was covered in thick oriental carpets; and the fireplace kept the room warm even against the damp chill of the English winter.

The combinations of red and gold throughout the space gave Jack the look of an Oriental prince, particularly now, as he lay in only his shirt and trousers, his bare feet stretched toward the fire. He met her gaze, his smile easy, dropping one foot to the floor and patting the space between his knees, inviting her to curl up with him. 

He’d managed to come after her on what must have been the first available ship, arriving shortly after she’d deposited her father into her mother’s mostly welcoming arms and removed herself from their townhouse to this place. The night he’d knocked on her door, looking travel weary and so beautiful to her eyes that she’d felt her heart expand within her chest, she’d taken him directly to her bedroom and they hadn’t left the flat for three days. They had made love in so many ways during that time and since—urgent, languid, fast, slow, in different positions and different rooms, over and over again—and yet she still wanted him. The knowledge of it was a steady thrum behind her breastbone. This was the man for her. 

She was enough of a realist to know that forever was a very long time, and that things might change, but she also knew how to enjoy the moment. This, now, and for the foreseeable future, was her moment with Jack, and she’d bask in it.

She walked toward him, her hips swaying, to settle herself between his thighs. Passing him one of the glasses, she drew up her knees and curled against his chest. He tugged the throw blanket from the back of the sofa and draped it over her—he knew by now that she got cold faster than he did, and it was best for both of them if he helped keep her hands and feet toasty.

“So tell me about what you did today,” she said, leaning her head back to accept the kiss he brushed against her lips. 

Over dinner, they’d talked about her day, spent working to safeguard her parents’ fortunes against the stock market crash that had just begun—its effects would eventually find their way to England and Australia, and she wanted to be certain that they had enough to live on and that her own bank accounts were as safe as they could be. Her father, of course, was making it as difficult as possible—it hadn’t been till she’d engaged a male estate manager that he’d actually begun to listen. It was maddening, and they’d taken to exchanging a glance and having the man parrot Phryne’s advice, which Henry would then laud as eminently sensible. It had been a very long day, she was tired, and as soon as she’d returned to the flat, she’d swapped her pretty dress and heels for the warmth and comfort of a pair of Jack’s pajamas. He didn’t seem to mind.

She closed her eyes as he told her about touring the Victoria and Albert Museum and Highgate Cemetery, his voice a warm rumble against her cheek. She loved the way he could, when he was comfortable, paint word pictures of his time in the city; although she’d been to both the museum and the cemetery as a schoolgirl, he obviously remembered more than she ever had. Of course, her memories wouldn’t be as sharp—she’d sneaked away from her school group with one of her schoolmates to have first a quick shag in a broom closet at the museum and then a quick smoke in the cemetery. Phryne smiled a little, thinking of it. What had that boy’s name been? Tommy? Terry? Whatever his name, at seventeen, she’d enjoyed the power she felt at his rather awe-struck determination to bring her off and the way he’d shuddered when he came. Perhaps she could entice Jack into taking her to the museum with him the next time. Maybe they could find that same closet.

Setting a hand against Jack’s stomach, she stroked him gently as she listened and commented where she could. Sipping slowly at her whiskey, she sank into the moment, warm and comfortable and home.

—= ♥ =—

As Jack spoke, he lowered his head to breathe in the scent of Phryne’s hair; the weight of her body against his, pliant and warm, was a welcome one, and the fact that he was here and holding her did not fail to amaze him. The past weeks had been a dream, from the first days when they’d barely left her bed through the ones spent exploring London to all of the evenings together, whether out at some society party or staying in to fully explore each other. He had wondered for so long about the little things—how she looked when she first woke in the morning, what sounds she made when she came, where she dabbed that French perfume so that its subtle scent filled his senses. He now knew the answers, and it pleased him to no end.

He didn’t know yet how long this heat between them would last, though he was hoping for forever. He knew that she wouldn’t make that kind of promise—she didn’t make promises she wasn’t certain she could keep—but he also knew that she had feelings for him that went beyond the momentary pleasures of the boudoir. With some luck and hard work, they’d make this last, and he’d take every minute of her that he could get.

His voice roughened at the sensation of her hand stroking his stomach. With each pass, it moved closer to where his cock had begun to swell in reaction to her nearness. The arousal didn’t feel urgent yet—just good, a slow upwelling of desire rather than the pain of denied release. He took a sip of his whiskey and stroked his hand from her shoulder to her waist, his fingertips just touching the soft skin where the hem of his pajamas—and didn’t she look divine in those? Better than he ever had—rode high on her hip. She made a soft noise of pleasure, and he responded to it, tucking his fingers under the top to lay his palm against her ribcage, the tips of his fingers brushing the bottom curves of her breast.

“Jack?” Her tone was lazy, and she turned the hand on his belly over, stroking now in a vertical line with the backs of her fingers.

“Hmm?” He spread his fingers, letting his thumb ride up the slope of her breast to the edge of her aureole. His cock stiffened even more at the sensation—he’d guessed that she’d foregone her underthings when she’d changed, but it was a delight to prove it.

“Are you finished with your whiskey?” She tilted her head back, and he brushed his lips over hers.

“Yes,” he breathed, loving the way her lashes fluttered as he slid his hand up further to take her soft weight into his palm.

She kissed him again, lightly, then lifted her hand from his stomach to tuck her fingers in the tops of first his glass, then her own. Stretching across him, she set the glasses on the sofa table, and he moved his arm to keep her breast within reach, pinching her nipple lightly. When she pulled herself back, she turned her hips, nestling her pelvis atop his, her chest against his; as she rolled, he slid his hand around her back to her other side to claim that breast as she pressed her mouth to his.

Jack closed his eyes as he focused on her mouth—its texture and taste, the straight line of her teeth under his tongue, the wet slide of hers across his lips. She seemed fascinated by the bow of his top lip, spending long moments mapping it with her tongue—not that he was complaining. He set his other hand at her waist, slipping upward to stroke the smooth, warm skin of her back; she arched, catlike, into his caress, and he relished the press of her belly against the hardening length of his cock. When he slid his hand down her back and under the waistband of her—his—pajama trousers to cup her bottom, she moaned softly, her teeth gripping at his lower lip. 

Grasping the edge of the sofa, Phryne pushed up, her lips leaving his, and Jack opened blurry eyes as he groaned a denial, his hands clenching on her buttock and her breast.

“Shhh,” she said, whiskey-sweet breath wafting over his face. “I’m just adjusting… there.” She’d managed to wedge one knee between his hip and the sofa’s back and balance the other on the cushions to align herself over his lap. With a soft moan, she pressed her open legs to his hardness and began to rock.

“Fuck,” Jack breathed as the heat of her sex nearly scalded him, even through multiple layers of cloth. Tightening his stomach muscles, he sat up even as he brought both hands to bear, fumbling at the buttons that ran down the front of her—his—pajama top. When he’d managed to undo them, he spread the lapels wide, the deep navy blue a perfect foil for the pale skin of her chest and the rosy pink of her pebbled nipples. 

“So pretty,” he managed, and she chuckled breathlessly, ending with a gasp as he leaned in and laid the flat of his tongue against her nipple.

Her hands lifted to his hair, sliding in and holding him steady as he suckled. Jack closed his eyes again, loving the velvet texture of her skin and the scent of her—perfume and sweat and woman. Wanting more, he dropped his hands to her waist to undo the tie that held up the pajama trousers. Flattening his hand against her stomach, he slid his palm down over her mound, his fingers slipping between her lower lips to toy with her clitoris as she pulsed against him.

“Jack,” she gasped, her fingers tightening against his scalp. 

In response, Jack switched his attention to her other breast as he pushed his hand lower, one long finger slipping inside her body. Phryne keened, her mouth wide against the top of his head, her hips pulsing faster against his hand. His cock throbbed with the need to be inside her, but he put that aside for now. He wanted to make her come apart right here, right now. With that thought foremost in his mind, he slid a second finger inside her body and pressed the ball of his thumb against her pleasure point, rubbing slow circles as he fucked her with his fingers.

“Go over, Phryne,” he growled, the words washing over the reddened skin of her breast. Sliding sideways a little, he fastened his mouth on the plump underside of her breast and suckled some more, loving the bitter tang of the perfume she’d dabbed there that morning and the knowledge that she liked it when he marked her this way.

Phryne whimpered and pumped her hips, one hand releasing his hair to brace herself against the back of the sofa as she searched for release. Lifting his head, Jack watched her face as he curled his fingers lightly inside her. She came on a wail, her head falling back and a flush rising on her cheeks and chest. He pushed his palm against her, putting pressure on her clit to prolong her orgasm, loving the way her mouth fell open, pink lips gaping as she gasped for air.

When she’d had enough, she reached to grasp his arm and pull his hand away before collapsing against his chest. Jack ran his hand up her back, which heaved with the effort of drawing breath. He tilted his head to press a smiling kiss to the top of her head, feeling the moisture of her body cooling on his fingers. 

“In just a moment,” she said, her breathless tone making his smile widen, “I’m going to get up and put in my device so that I can ravish you properly.”

“Hm,” he said, “may I help?”

“With the ravishment?” Phryne lifted her head, and her heavy-lidded eyes smiled invitingly. “I’m counting on it.”

“Well, yes, definitely,” he retorted, leaning in to kiss her. “But also with your device.”

Pulling her head back, she studied him. “Really? Why?”

Jack shrugged. “Seems like something I should know?” He wasn’t actually sure why he’d asked, but now that he thought about it, it did feel like an important thing. If he was part of the… not problem—sex with her was absolutely not a problem—but reason. If he was part of the reason she needed that device, he should take some of the responsibility for it as well.

“All right,” she said, her tone amused but edging into interested. “You’ve already proven you’re good with your fingers.” 

Holding his eyes, she lifted the hand he’d just had between her thighs and brought it to her mouth, opening to stroke her tongue along his two fingers before sucking them inside. Jack groaned as she cleaned them, her tongue sliding sensually around each digit. His cock, already hard, made its desires known with a hard pulse of arousal. He sat up and leaned in, pulling his fingers away to kiss her, his tongue pressing into her mouth; Phryne stretched her hands up around his neck as he cupped his hands under her thighs and stood. She pressed closer, her legs locking around his waist to bring the heat of her once again flush against his hardness.

“Where?” Jack heard his voice as if from a distance, as the word fell rough and aching against the space behind her ear.

“In the bath.” Phryne pressed open-mouthed kisses to his jawline, her own voice breathy with desire.

Jack kneaded her thighs and buttocks as he carried her toward the flat’s bathroom, and he hoped that this would be a short lesson. He wanted to sink inside her body, to feel the heat of her surround him, more than ever. It didn’t matter that they’d done this uncountable times since he’d arrived. He would never get enough of her, of them, and he planned to make sure she knew it.

—= ♥ =—

Phryne tightened her legs around Jack’s waist as he walked them deeper into the flat. Why was the thought of him inserting her device so arousing? Was it because no man had ever offered before? She was never—well, almost never—irresponsible about birth control, and had ejected men from her bed for being unwilling to cooperate in her protection. Her pleasure was important, but so was being sure that she didn’t come away from an assignation with something she didn’t want. In fact, she generally doubled up on protection—condom and Dutch cap—until she’d known a man, in the carnal sense, for some time. Jack was one of very few men who was welcomed inside her body without a condom; when the others had reached that status, they’d seemed to immediately forget that there was still some sort of prevention happening.

But not so Jack.

Slipping one of her hands from his neck, she brought it down his chest and began unfastening his shirt buttons. Before they’d been lovers, her fingers had itched to unbutton Jack’s layers; she’d done it once, at Guy and Isabella’s engagement party, but had not been able to take advantage of his loosened state. Now she had his permission and, every time, the thought brought with it a rush of pleasure. She rolled her hips against him, loving the choked groan he emitted. Not long now.

Jack strode through the door to the bathroom and stopped in the center of the plush rug that lay atop the cold tile; planting his feet, he turned his head to capture her lips with his. Phryne kissed him back, her hand pushing under the placket of his shirt to trace his ribs through the soft cotton of his undershirt. Loosening her legs around him, she slid down his body without breaking contact; Jack’s hands roamed beneath her open top as he concentrated on her mouth. She could feel the waistband of her trousers sagging; they would fall as soon as she and Jack weren’t pressed together. Possibly before that. 

Hands on his chest, she pushed his shirt off of his broad shoulders, letting it fall behind him; it caught on his hands, and they both laughed softly as she turned to unfasten the buttons at his cuffs. Freed, he stripped the shirt off, pausing as she moved slightly back to allow the pajama trousers to fall in a soft shushing noise to the floor.

“God,” he said, watching her as she stepped out of them, then bent—being sure not to obscure his view—to pick them up. 

Smiling—she loved it when he was overcome at the sight of a little naked flesh—she tugged the shirt from his hands and laid it and the pajama trousers over the suit rack. Turning back, she moved languidly toward Jack, aware of the way the pajama shirt framed her body.

He swallowed hard, Adam’s apple bobbing, and she couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to the hollow of his strong throat as she reached to caress his cock where it tented his trousers. He leaned in to kiss her again, and she was lost in the taste of him, her fingers tightening around the rod in her hand. Abruptly, he moaned and lifted his head; catching her hand in his, he pulled it away from his body.

“Protection,” he growled, and Phryne opened her eyes, her body throbbing.

“Right. Yes.” She licked her lips, the taste of him lingering, and looked around, momentarily unable to remember where her device was. 

Jack’s soft chuckle snapped her out of her fugue, and she strode over to the cabinet beside the sink. Retrieving the clamshell case from a shallow drawer, she turned back to Jack and froze. He’d stripped off his undershirt and trousers and stood before her in only his thin cotton undershorts. His arousal was plain, and her mouth watered at the sight of him, all golden skin and muscle. She paused to let her eyes trail down his body, and he groaned her name, holding out his hand.

Stepping forward, she laid the case in his hand and raised her eyes to his. The tiny smirk that shaped his lips should not have aroused her more, and yet she felt her nipples harden at the sight of it. Impossible man. Her breath quickening, she moved toward the tub, shrugging the pajama top off her shoulders as she moved. She couldn’t contain her smile at the the small gasp he emitted when she let it fall to the floor. 

“All right then, Jack,” she said, turning to face him and lifting one leg to set her bare foot on the rim of the tub. “Are you ready?”

—= ♥ =—

Jack felt all of the blood rush from his head as Phryne bared herself to him, the position of her raised leg allowing the ruby petals of her sex to peek from beneath her neat thatch of black hair. His mouth dry, Jack looked down at the clamshell case he held. With an effort, he wrenched his mind back to the business at hand. Maybe this hadn’t been the best idea—Phryne was distracting at the best of times.

He clenched his jaw and gave his head a slight shake. He managed to solve crimes while in her company—though admittedly, she generally wasn’t naked when they were working—surely he could get himself together enough to perform a little digital penetration. No, that was not the way to think about this. To place her device, which was intended to keep her from falling pregnant. Very prosaic. Almost boring. 

“All right, then,” he said, his voice rough. He cleared his throat. “How do I do this?”

He tried to ignore the laugh in Phryne’s voice as she walked him through the procedure—there, that sounded clinical, didn’t it? Opening the case and setting it on the edge of the sink, he pulled out the device and followed her instructions. The thing was smaller than he remembered, and his fingers felt large and clumsy as he handled it. What if his hands were too big for this? No, she’d handled his fingers before, her passage warm and tight—no, don’t think about that! 

Concentrating hard, he approached Phryne with the rubber cup in his hand and sank to his knees beside her. God, she smelled good! He breathed deeply, his eyelids sliding closed. Musky and sweet in a different way than the skin of her breasts, but with hints of the same French perfume—she liked to dab it on the pulse points at the tops of her thighs. Shifting to ease the pressure of the cotton over his groin, Jack swallowed and lifted the tiny rubber cup.

“Now what?” If anything, he was growling now, the desire in him so close that he thought there was a possibility that he’d disgrace himself by coming before he was even inside her. Not that Phryne would mind. She loved it when he lost control.

“Bend it over your finger—no, this way,” her hands were soft as she adjusted his grip, her fingers stroking gently along his as she pulled away.

Feeling awkward, Jack focused on the device in his hand as he reached for her.

“And I just… slide it in?” He glanced up at Phryne. Later, he’d think that that was the moment it all went sideways. Though he’d meant to meet her eyes, get confirmation that he was on the right path, he was distracted by the smooth curve of her belly and the way her breasts, their nipples peaked, framed her face in the space between them. She was gazing at him, her eyes tender and a small smile turning up the edges of her mouth, and his heart skipped a beat.

He also loosened his grip on her pessary. Almost silently, the device launched itself away from his fingers. 

“No!” 

The cry might have come from either or both of them as they watched its flight, time seeming to slow. Jack reached to catch it but missed, his fingers touching the edge and sending it spinning in the opposite direction from Phryne’s outstretched hand. Jack pushed to his feet in pursuit of it, his head narrowly missing Phryne’s as they both lunged after the thing. It hit the wall and bounced, and they watched, helpless, as it fell neatly into the tiny triangular hole where the tub crossed the corner of the room.

Jack scrambled over, trying to push his hand after it, but though he could reach in to his wrist, there was no way his forearm would fit. There would be no retrieving it that way. Pushing back, he laid on his stomach on the rug to peer beneath the tub. He could see it, there in the corner, but when he stretched his arm to reach it, he fell inches short.

“Damn!” The expletive burst from him and he laid his face against the cool tile of the floor. He could feel the way his cheeks were burning. How could he have been so stupid? His hands were large and clumsy and the thing was so small. He was usually deft, but he knew that she made his hands shake. He tapped his forehead to the floor, berating himself.

Phryne made a choked sound, and Jack reared his head back to look at her. She stood with one hand on the edge of the tub and the other over her mouth.

“Phryne? I’m so sorry,” he began, pushing up on his elbows. “It’s just out of reach. I need to find a stick or something, and then I’ll be able to reach it. I can’t believe I—”

He broke off when she doubled over, a sound coming from behind her hand that he’d never heard her make before—it was high and thin, and he could see now that her face was reddening and her eyes were watering. 

“Phryne?” He rose to his knees, reaching out to her. “Are you all right?”

—= ♥ =—

“A _stick_!” Phryne had tried to hold her amusement in, but the words burst out of her on a wave of laughter. “Oh god, Jack, I’m sorry! But… your face, and the both of us trying to catch it, and then _a stick_!” She wrapped her hands around her waist as she collapsed to sit beside him on the rug, tears rolling from her eyes as she laughed.

She couldn’t see Jack’s face, but she heard the reluctant chuckle that essayed from him, soft and low but gaining in volume as he let himself see the ridiculousness of the moment. Before long, he was laughing as hard as she was; each of them leaned in until they could wrap their arms around each other, and Jack tugged her in to sit on his lap. 

“You looked so concerned…”

“And I was trying to keep my hands from shaking…” 

“And then, all of a sudden…”

“ _Sproing_!”

When that word left Jack’s mouth, Phryne howled with laughter again, her arms wrapping tight around his neck. Jack buried his face in her shoulder, his shoulders shaking with mirth. Eventually, Phryne raised her head and wiped her eyes; when Jack lifted up to meet her gaze, he shook his head sheepishly. His cheeks were red and his eyes wet with tears of merriment, and he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.

“I _am_ sorry, Phryne,” he said, and she couldn’t help leaning in to kiss him softly. 

“It’s all right. I did the same thing the first time I tried to insert it.” She laid her hand along his cheek and kissed him again. Shifting against his lap, she felt his erection, which had subsided with the flight of the diaphragm and their subsequent hilarity, begin to make itself known again.

“Reach into that second drawer, would you, darling?” Brushing her nose tenderly across his, she loosened her grip and leaned back. 

Jack blinked, turning to look at the sink cabinet uncomprehendingly for a moment before extending a hand to slide the drawer open. Reaching in, he withdrew a box of condoms; he turned to kiss her again with a smile.

“I swear,” he said, setting the condom box beside him as Phryne shifted her weight to straddle his lap, “I’ll retrieve your device for you.”

“Later, Jack,” she said with a grin. “I have plans for you first.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” he retorted. “I love your plans.”

“As you should, Jack Robinson,” she said, and kissed him again, arching her back to press her breasts into the warm flesh of his bare chest.

Jack’s hands stroked down her back to cup her bottom and urge her against him. She could feel his cock, still obscured by the thin cotton of his undershorts, shifting against her sex as he urged her to rock against him.

“Take those off,” she murmured against his lips. “I want to feel you.”

Wordlessly, he lifted her; she rose up onto her knees, pressing kisses to the corner of his mouth and his jawline. He shoved his underwear off, then urged her close again. 

“I’d planned,” he said softly as she nestled the heat between her legs against his own, “to bring you off with my fingers and my mouth once that damned thing was in place.” 

Stroking his hands up her sides, he cupped her breasts, his fingers and thumbs circling her nipples. Phryne pressed her hips closer, one hand reaching down to spread her lips so that she bathed him in her moisture, dragging her clit along his length, up and back again.

“Let’s do that later,” she whispered, rearing back a little to look at his face. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his mouth slightly open and wet from her kisses. She could see the soft pink line of his tongue behind the whiteness of his teeth, and it sent a pulse of arousal through her. “Put on a condom, Jack.”

He nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, and held her eyes for one long beat before releasing her breast to reach for the box, fumbling it open one-handed. When he had the rubber in hand, he passed it to her, humor quirking the corner of his mouth.

“You do it. Just in case.”

She snorted softly, then gasped as he lifted his hips to press more firmly against her. Sliding back along his thighs, she watched as his cock bobbed up, lifting up off of his belly toward her.

“Sproing,” she whispered, and he laughed breathlessly, the muscles of his stomach jouncing. As she covered him with the condom, he moaned, one hand settling on the floor and the other stroking down to her hip.

Lifting herself up, she kissed him again, her tongue sliding between his lips as she held his cock to her entrance. She sank down slightly, taking only his head inside, and swiveled her hips. His fingers gripped her hip, but he didn’t push—he wouldn’t, she knew. He rarely did, preferring to let her take what she needed. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to ride him until he lost himself in her, until his control broke under the pleasure. Setting her hands to his shoulders, she pushed him backward to lie on the rug even as she let her body slide down his length until he was buried inside her.

She watched his lips form her name, though he emitted no sound; the tendons of his neck flexed and his jaw clenched as she took him in. Leaning forward, she placed her hands on his shoulders and pressed her mouth to his. He kissed her, his hands sliding up her back to hook behind her shoulders and cup her head, holding her still as he ravished her mouth. Phryne whimpered and began to move, arching her back to draw herself up and off of him, only to straighten and push back down. Over and over, she moved, slowly impaling herself on him, loving the stretch of her muscles—both in her back and between her thighs—with each approach and withdrawal.

Eyes closed, her mind absorbed by the penetration of his tongue between her lips and his cock between her thighs, Phryne barely noticed the movement of his hand at first. It wasn’t until he took her nipple between two fingers, gently rolling and pinching it in counterpoint to their shared rhythm that she truly felt his hand on her breast. Shifting, she lifted her hand to cover his, the motion of his soft squeezes against her palm another layer of sensation added to the building tension within her. 

“Jack,” she said into his mouth, opening her eyes. “Jack.”

He took her lower lip between his teeth and met her eyes, his pupils wide. “More,” he growled. 

Nodding, Phryne kissed him again, harder, then sat up, her hands trailing down his arms to lift his other hand to her breast. Throwing her head back, her hands on his, she rode him, faster and faster, feeling the shifting of his legs beneath her as he augmented her thrusts with his own. Soon, she was bouncing, hands dropping from his; one reached back to steady herself against his thigh, loving the rough texture of his hair and the warmth of his skin. Her other hand dropped between her thighs to slip between her lips and touch the sensitive tip of her clit. 

Jack groaned, his hands flat on her breasts, her nipples caught between his first two fingers. He squeezed them, not quite gently, alternating sides as she moved above him. 

“More,” he said again, and she felt him shift, felt one hand fall away only to be replaced by the warm heat of his mouth. 

“Jack!” His name was a breath of air, thin with her need to come; her head fell forward, her eyes focusing on the short hair at the nape of his neck and the motion of his jaw. Her fingers between her legs moved quickly, the clicking of her body’s moisture joining the slap of their flesh and the soughing of their breath.

Jack’s free hand moved to bracket hers between her legs, his long fingers sliding in beside hers as she played with her clit. At the same time, he sucked hard on her nipple, and Phryne cried out as the suction zinged down to her sex. Jack spread his fingers and slid them between their bodies to touch the stretched skin where his flesh joined hers; she sped up again, her mouth opening to pull in more air, her hips slapping against his. Shifting slightly, Phryne lifted her hand from his thigh to grasp the back of his neck, her fingers splaying against his nape.

Dropping the hand on her breast to the floor, Jack let her nipple fall from his lips as his head lolled backward, too heavy for his neck. As he moved, Phryne slid her hand down his chest, scraping her nails over his nipples and making him groan. With an effort, she opened her eyes wider to take him in—his flushed cheeks and clenched jaw showing the effort he was exerting to control his body as he tried to push her over the edge. He was muttering something that sounded like “fuck, Phryne, yes, fuck” as his fingers slipped and slid in the moisture between her legs. She wanted to come, needed to come, but she wanted and needed to see him go first. With a quick motion, she pinched his nipple, twisting it gently.

It worked; his eyes flew all the way open as he shouted her name. His back bowed, his hips moving with her, trying to keep himself embedded within her body as climax pulsed through him. Phryne rode through his bucking, her hand moving up to his neck again as she held on while his body shuddered beneath hers. A rush of pleasure filled her—not orgasm, but the joy in having given him release. 

—= ♥ =—

Jack raised his head, his body feeling wrung out from the climax that had just punched through him. He met Phryne’s eyes and then her mouth as she leaned in to kiss him. Pushing himself up, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. 

When she lifted her head, he saw her face, the tension that sat in the fine skin at the corners of her eyes, the flush of her pale cheeks, and he knew.

“You didn’t…”

She shook her head and smiled, leaning in to kiss him again. He met her halfway, loving the feel of her mouth against his. Savoring her, he sank into the kiss even as he reached to shift her body against his, rolling to push her back into the rug. After a long moment, he pulled away, slipping out of her body and reaching down to remove the condom; she lay quiescent as he disposed of it and then came back to her.

With a smile, he leaned down to press a kiss to her breastbone, then another to her sternum, then onward, moving down her body until he lay between her thighs, his legs stretched out onto the cool tile and his elbows on the carpet. Lifting his eyes to hers, he set his mouth to her sex, their mingled flavors melding on his tongue. Phryne cried out, her hands lifting to burrow into his hair, and he shifted to bring his hand up and slide two fingers into her body as he worked her clit with his tongue. Before long, she was writhing against the rug, her chanted “yes, Jack, Jack, yes” music to his ears. He felt the tension gathering, knew that she was close to release, and redoubled his efforts, cupping his tongue under her clit and sucking it against his top lip.

With a scream, she came, hands in his hair pulling, her inner muscles contracting around his fingers, her thighs clamping against his ears. He loved it, all of it—her strength, her scent, the sound of his name on her lips. When she relaxed again, he lifted his head and smiled, knowing that it was smug.

“Come here, Jack,” she said, tugging again on his hair. 

He obliged, following the pressure on his scalp to crawl up her body, settling his weight against her.

“I love it when a plan comes together,” he murmured. “Now I just need a stick.”

Grinning, he covered her laughing mouth with his own.


End file.
